


if death don't mind

by daggerdream (compulsiveboy)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 03:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6499132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compulsiveboy/pseuds/daggerdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t regret it. Simon betrayed him - no, all of them - but something in his gut twists when he thinks of the way Simon stood in front of Camille, protected her. Stood with Clary and didn’t seem to care when Raphael severed their alliance.</p>
<p>He wonders if Simon ever cared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if death don't mind

“I- I guess it’s too late to put her back in the box?”

“I’m afraid so. Our alliance is finished.”

He doesn’t regret it. Simon betrayed him - no, all of them - but something in his gut twists when he thinks of the way Simon stood in front of Camille, protected her. Stood with Clary and didn’t seem to care when Raphael severed their alliance.

He wonders if Simon ever cared.

Raphael glances at the suit hanging on his door. The one he lent to Simon for the wedding. It still smells like him, and Raphael can’t bear to have a reminder of his betrayal lingering in his own fucking home, hanging on his fucking door.

The suit gets tucked away into the back of his closet, out of sight, out of mind.

But the smell of Simon still hides in the stitches, the very fibers of the suit, and despite Raphael’s best efforts to tear his scent from the fabric, it never fades. 

And somewhere in the back of his mind, he doesn’t want it to.

Eventually, it gets too much, trying to avoid his own room, his closet, and he resolves to put the suit in Simon’s room - _old_ room. He still has to correct himself - just in case he changes his mind. Comes back.

He runs a hand over the smooth fabric of the jacket, remembering the day he lent it to Simon.

Simon had approached him, tense in the shoulders, staring at a table in the room Raphael had settled himself in, pretending to take interest in a nearby book Raphael had acquired a couple centuries ago, the cover adorned with a gold illustration of a fairy, flowers pouring from her hands, vines at her ankles.

“Hey, Raphael. Alec’s wedding is tonight, and I, uh-” he took a moment to scratch the back of his neck, “I don’t really have any formal clothes?”

Raphael raised an eyebrow at that, turning to walk away, motioning for Simon to follow.

“Come with me, fledgling.”

The door to Raphael’s room was unassuming, a stark contrast to the contents of the room, which was unsurprisingly extravagant and dramatic, most of the furniture carved with intricate patterns. Simon seemed to take note of a rather large, deep red chair, moving to run a hand over the arm of it.

“This way,” Raphael said, waving a hand in the direction of his closet. 

Simon tore his gaze from the chair and followed Raphael, moving his shoulders back and standing up straight, trying to make himself seem bigger, more confident, as Raphael pushed open the door to his closet.

There was just a ridiculous fucking amount of clothes in there.

“Holy shit. Where did you even get all of these?” Simon said, approaching the contents of Raphael’s closet, reaching out to touch one of his jackets, but stopping himself before he made contact, like he was afraid he would break it.

Raphael ran a finger down the arm of one of his suits. “I’ve got a lot of time on my hands,” he took a moment to smile, showing off his teeth, just a bit too sharp in the canines, _“fledgling.”_

Simon rolled his eyes at that, obviously tired of the nickname, an almost unnoticeable pink staining his cheeks. 

“Let’s just get this over with.”

They spent hours in there, Raphael picking out suits, Simon trying them on, walking out of his unnecessarily large walk-in closet, and making over exaggerated modeling faces that Raphael never seemed to appreciate. 

“Better.” Raphael said, after Simon walked out wearing a suit that he wore to a funeral once. He can’t quite remember whose. Things start to blend together once you’ve lived this long.

Simon buried his head in his hands in exasperation. “You said that about the last five!”

Raphael chuckled, waving his hand to the closet again, eliciting a frustrated groan and a melodramatic exit from Simon.

As he turned away, Raphael raked his eyes over the sight of Simon wearing his clothes, felt his cheeks flush. Thought about what he would look like _out_ of that suit-

“Okay, how about this one?” Simon asked, emerging from the closet wearing yet another of Raphael’s suits, dark all over, the jacket royal blue when illuminated.

He looked fucking gorgeous.

Raphael stared at him for a moment before nodding in approval, moving to smooth out Simon’s collar and straighten his tie because _apparently_ he never learned how to tie a tie properly and, _Christ_ , he’d never been this close to Simon’s face and his eyes were just as pretty as the rest of him and he was almost certain that if he had a heartbeat, it would’ve hiccuped just then.

“Uh, Raphael?” Simon said, sounding just about as breathless as you can when you’re dead.

Raphael straightened up at his voice, taking a step back and reluctantly tearing his gaze from Simon’s lips.

“Hmm. You clean up nicely, Lewis.”

Simon gave him a sharp, lopsided grin at the unexpected compliment.

\--

Raphael pulls himself out of his thoughts. He can’t afford to lose time. He’s got business to attend to. 

That’s what he tells himself, anyways. 

He also tells himself that he doesn’t care about Simon, even though his confident stroll through the hotel is interrupted when he crosses paths with Simon’s old door and his shoulders tense, his knuckles going white around the glass of blood in his hand, sending almost undetectable cracks through the glass. 

He tells himself that it doesn’t matter that Simon’s name sticks in his throat, akin to the way God’s name refused to roll off his tongue when he was a fledgling.

That it doesn’t mean anything.

He tells himself that it didn’t hurt to see Simon denounce him the way he did, that it didn’t destroy him to watch Simon leave.

Raphael tells himself he was never in love with him.

He knows it’s not true.

**Author's Note:**

> yikes lmao this isn't very good but i've never officially written a fic before so like. hey. cut me some slack maybe
> 
> also it's just a little angsty but the angst isnt that bad tbh
> 
> song title is from binary mind by ra ra riot


End file.
